Against the Bloodseeker Warband (Amen, blackdog1, Ganlon Martel)

[Northman]

The smell of rotting flesh filled the warm summer air long before Jaak rounded the hill. Jaak carefully approached the scene that was waiting; making sure his sword was loose in its scabbard as he did so. The eager humming of flies became apparent as Jaak came around the hill, and the stench was close to unbearable. In front of him lay several livestock carcasses, strewn in front or around two wagons with broken wheels. Looking around, Jaak saw only animal carcasses, but it was apparent that this had been the scene of a battle. The wagons had been emptied, either by looters or survivors, and left on the small dirt road. Half a dozen crows were pecking at the carcasses, but soon took to the air when the huge man approached. When poking around the area, Jaak noticed there were no humanoid bodies, but could conclude after examining the scene that there had been people killed here. The fallen must’ve also been removed by the survivors.

Determined to get to the bottom of this, the woodsman carefully looked around the site for clues as to what could have transpired. It was obvious that whoever rode the wagons had been attacked by a superior force, but all Jaak could find was footprints that were too muddled and weak to follow. Sighing, he decided to move on from this disturbing scene. He had heard rumors that the area north of the upper Niema valley was growing dangerous these days, but he had not expected to find a scene like this only a few days away from the numerous safe settlements and orchards in the valley.

The following days would only show Jaak more signs of this danger; burned crops and barns, dead cattle and broken fences. It was apparent that someone was raiding these parts, and when he finally reached a settlement of some size, he found that a lot of people had left and the remaining ones had barricaded the buildings of the small village. The locals could tell the hunter that people in this area lived in constant fear of raids after what they had heard travelers tell them of the situation in the area. Although they could not be sure themselves since they hadn’t been attacked, people up north from Tornsville, they said, were claiming goblins were looting the countryside. This rumor concerned Jaak, who soon found himself on the road to Tornsville.

On the way there, the chaos became more apparent. Jaak would find that the evidence of raids became more prevalent as he travelled north. It was either a lot of goblins, or this was done by a small band and had gone on for a while. He did not know which one he preferred.

With the small village of Tornsville not even a mile ahead, Jaak was greeted by a single rider. It was a slightly obese, bald man with mustache in his late thirties or early forties, wearing a slightly too small padded armor and carrying a spear.

”Hoo, hoo,” he brought his horse to a halt. ”Halt, stranger, you should…” the man had been issuing a warning in a shaking, but still authoritarian voice. He had, however, been cut short by himself as he noticed the small arsenal of weapons Jaak was carrying. ”You’re, you’re no trader or traveler,” the rider stated, not really sure what to make of this.

”True,” Jaak replied with his strong voice. ”I hear you have trouble in these parts, how big?” He asked. No need for pleasentries.

”Oh thank the Makers of the World!” the man exclaimed, ”You do not know what kind of salvation you bring to us,” he went on, ”it seems in these difficult we’re all but forgotten up here. Farmers close to the mountains may not produce as much as those down south, but we’re important to the area around here, and the upper valley. Not that nobility and royalty cares,” he went on.

”Cut to the chase, old man,” Jaak cut him off and crossed his arms, ”the situation is as it is. I can’t do much about politics, but I can help you with this,” he said bluntly and pointed at a nearby field that had been scorched. ”How big?” he repeated.

”The goblins?” the said ”They’re not big, but they’re looting and pillaging enough for an army. A farmer over the East Ridge there,” the man indicated a collection of small hills to the east, ”said that it was only a small band, under a dozen, and that he and his sons could take them,” the man dried his sweaty head with his forearm ”but they rest with the Good Spirits now, even though he had four big sons.”

That information was a little unsettling, even to Jaak. ”Has the village been attacked?” the hunter asked, still keeping his arms folded and looking at the man with a stern look.

”No, we’ve barricaded and armed ourselves as best as we can,” the man explained. Looking at the village, Jaak could tell that didn’t count for much. From this range, he figured it had a small village square around a well with maybe a tavern and a blacksmith, as well as a few sales buildings for the surrounding farmers. Apart from that, the village wasn’t as much a village as it was simply a collection of several farms. But still, the villager would outnumber a small band of goblins, and there were strength in numbers.

”Do you have more horses and riders?” Jaak asked, finally unfolding his arms and taking of his helmet.

”Yes, there are six more,” he said.

”Good, now what’s your name?”

”Gunner, I live over there,” Gunner pointed to the northwestern most farm.

”Alright, Gunner,” Jaak replied, ”listen carefully. Gather the four best riders and have them ride hard south and west, stopping by every village, settlement, city, outpost, traveler, ranger and soldier and spread the word that Jaak Byron the monster hunter seeks brave warriors willing to risk their lives protecting the citizens of Corone against goblins. They can find him at Gunner’s farm in Tornsville. If they ride hard and ride now, they will be long out of this area before dark.”

”But,” Gunner started.

”Go!”

[Amen]

“I would appreciate any help you can give me.”

“Well, there aren’t any local boys I can think of. They’ve all got jobs, families, responsibilities. There’s nobody who can risk their lives for somebody else’s land.”

“I can understand that.”

“There’s one guy, though. A wanderer from Salvar if his accent was any indication. I think he’s a cleric.”

“A cleric? You misunderstood me; I don’t need somebody to pray for us. We want to fight this. We need fighting men, not priests.”

“This isn’t any kind of holy man you’ve ever seen before, and you’re grasping at shadows otherwise. Trust me on this one, it’s worth a shot.”

“What is your priest’s name?”

“What did they call him? Book, I believe. His name is Mister Book.”

***

Marcus Book grunted as Number One’s fist met his jaw, sending him stumbling to the left. He spat blood and growled, turning again to face Number One, and did not see Number Two hurrying in behind him until it was too late. Two locked Marcus’ arms behind him, and Number One raised his fist.

“Well, do it!” Book said with a genuine smile. “Go on. I want you to.”

Number One punched the paladin in the stomach, and he doubled over half coughing and half laughing. He didn’t fall far, as Number Two held him up by his arms.

“Get him up!” One said. “Hell, his guts are solid."

“Hit him in the jaw,” Two said, “maybe it’s softer, hey?”

One approached again, and Two pulled Marcus up straight with some effort. At that moment, the paladin snapped his head back and it collided brutally with Two’s nose. Book felt it break against his freshly-shaven scalp, pouring blood down his back before Number Two cried out and released his arms, stumbling away.

Number One hesitated, his fist half-cocked. Marcus threw his own fist into One’s stomach, a sharp piston-motion, and One spit involuntarily over the paladin’s shoulder.

“Everybody gets one,” Book growled, and then followed the first punch with a second, and this one met One’s jaw and, by the sound of it, broke something. This time One spat blood and teeth, and then he went down on his hands and knees.

The squire turned around. Number Two was kneeling on the ground clutching his shattered nose; Number Three was standing slightly off to the right staring wide-eyed. Marcus kicked Two in the chest and sent him sprawling, and then held his arms out wide and tilted his head to one side.

“Take it,” Marcus said. “Everybody gets one!”

Three was an older man, but solid, stocky, a farmer with grey hair and sagging jowls. He was taller than Marcus, but One and Two were too. Three set his mouth up in a grim line and took a swing, but Book was ready and swung too. Their fists met, but it was Three who cried out and stumbled away holding his hand.

“Son of a whore!” Three screamed, half-weeping.

“Come on, you still have a good hand. Or you can kick, I won’t complain.”

Three stood staring at Marcus, and glanced beyond him to the door. The small crowd began to boo, and he took a few deep breaths. Marcus watched him, and raised his eyebrows as if to say, I know, but hey, what’re you gonna do?

Three raised his left fist and charged, but Book deflected the wide punch and threw a haymaker of his own. Three went down, out cold. Marcus looked down at Three, and then glanced over at Two, who lay on his back holding his face with bloody hands, and One, who was still on his knees and one hand. Marcus nudged him in the ribs with one boot and the man went over and lay flat on his back, staring unfocused at the ceiling. His mouth hung open all wrong.

There were roughly thirty patrons of the local inn gathered in the barn to watch the fight, and when Marcus turned around and raised his bare arms, everybody cheered.

***

Horace Cairn followed the crowd back to the inn, keeping his distance. This was nothing close to what he expected, and it made him doubt the entire situation. He took a seat near the door and watched as Marcus Book collected his winnings from an organized street fight in which three men were seriously injured, and then bought drinks for the two local floozies that shoved in to profusely congratulate him.

This was no cleric.

But I wasn’t really here to find a cleric. Those people need me. They need him.

Cairn finished his drink to steel his nerves, and then made his approach. Book was not a tall man, but he was large, broad of shoulder and…

“…Cor! They’re big. Let her feel!” one of the floozies was saying.

Marcus obediently flexed his opposite arm and let the second strumpet feel around his coat-sleeves.

“Mister Book,” Cairn said, cautiously.

Marcus seemed guarded when he looked up, narrowing his eyes only slightly. Horace was a ranger, and was no stranger to men from all walks of life, from farmers to soldiers, and he recognized the behaviors of the latter in this man. Book was not threatened, but he was apprehensive – prepared for a fight.

“My name is Horace Cairn,” the ranger said. “I am a ranger sent from the north, a place called Tornsville. I have a proposition for you.”

The paladin relaxed, which put the women a little more at ease. They glanced between the two men, still unsure of the situation: this could either be beneficial to them or, well, the exact opposite. Marcus indicated that Cairn should sit, and then he pushed a tankard from its place in front of him to a place in front of the ranger.

Accepting the drink graciously, which he later realized had been purchased with the fight winnings along with every other drink in the inn for two hours after the bout, Cairn explained the situation in Tornsville and his appointed task: to seek out experienced men to help kill a marauding pack of goblins.

“I realize this isn’t something you normally do…”

Marcus shrugged a big shoulder, and the women began to pout. “We’ll leave tonight,” he said. “I’ve never killed a goblin before.”

***

The sun had only begun its descent to the west when Horace suddenly stopped his horse in the road, and Marcus tugged at his own reins and raised a questioning eyebrow. The ranger pointed northeast.

“That is the house of Gunner,” he said.

“You’re not coming?”

Cairn shook his head. “I’m a pathfinder, a guide. I take people around and away from danger, not into it. I have no desire to find my head on some goblin pike. No, I wish you the best of luck and I sincerely hope to hear of your success and good health soon. But I intend to hear of it somewhere far from here.”

Book nodded, and turned his horse northeast. “Goodbye, Mister Cairn.”

The ranger watched him go for a long moment, and then sighed. “Godspeed, Mister Book. And the rest, whoever you poor devils may be.”

***

It was not long after that the paladin found himself pounding the underside of his fist on Gunner’s door. When there was no immediate answer, he shouted, “My name is Marcus Book. I hear you have goblins, and have need of men to make them dead.”

[blackdog1]

OOC [ Ganlon Martels actions and dialogue in this post were approved by him before posting ]


There was a palpable change in new area that Milo and his traveling companion had recently entered. At first he noticed the lack of traffic on the well built and maintained roads, later taking in the infrequent signs of recent passage. Even more disturbing to a person who had spent most of his life living and wandering about the vast forest of Concordia was the absence of activity in the forest and fields.

It was as if the land were holding it's breath, waiting for some large and dangerous predator to pass through. Milo was certain that he and Ganlon were not the cause of this obvious strain.

As they continued on in their own comfortable silence, Milo took the opportunity to study Ganlon, one glance at a time. It appeared that he too could sense the nervousness around them, evident in the long looks into the trees and fingers that would linger in his weapons.

They could hear the rider approaching long before he came into sight. He was running his mount hard and the hoof beats carried well on the otherwise silent road.

Milos first instincts told him to dip into the roadside under brush, blend in and let the rider pass unaware of his presence, or stick them with an arrow. Instead, he looked at Ganlon, who was already looking at him. They stood their ground, arms width apart in the center of the road. There was too much tension in these parts to not meet anything here head on.

The rider began to reign in his mount the moment he saw the two men barring the road and came to a stop a safe five paces before them. He was no more than a boy and his anxiousness was more that evident. He and his mount took a moment to regain their breath before anyone spoke.

"There are goblins about," the boy quickly blurted out," and the monster hunter needs help."

Ganlon held his hand up, palm facing the boy, in a calming gesture. But Milo spoke before he had the chance to open his mouth.

"Slow down boy," Milo speaking slowly himself," what goblins? what monster hunter?"

The boy took a few breaths before going on, much calmer this time.
"The monster hunter is at the Gunner farm, 'bout three miles back. He needs help to hunt down the goblins that have been attacking us."

Things were making a lot more sense now. Milo once again glanced toward Ganlon in an attempt to gauge his reaction, but his attention was drawn to the boy.

He was once again on the reigns, preparing to flee.

"Please sirs, I must make it to the next village before night fall," the fear was returning to him and his mount.

Before anything else could be said, the boy was darting off down the road without even a glance back at Milo and Ganlon.

" Milo, my father would say if there are people hurt you need to tend to them. He would say, don't be a hero and try and save the day just fix the hurt people and get out. I say we go and see if there are any hurt people and then get out."

Milo, as always, was thinking about his own safety. Right now it looked like safety could be where the numbers and power were.

[Ganlon Martel]

OOC: All Bunnying approved by Milo before posting.


Ganlon watched the back of the boy as he head off down the road.

“Don't be a hero and try and save the day just fix the hurt people and get out. I say we go and see if there are any hurt people and then get out.” He had said to Milo. Ganlon thought a lot about this statement. Truth be told he was itching inside to prove himself against something or someone.
He remembered the stories of Goblins from when he was a small boy. Creatures that went bump in the night were a common conversation in his house when he wouldn’t be quite before bed. Goblins; green men that were small enough to sneak into your bed room and carry away bad children often scared Ganlon into shutting his mouth.

Ganlon often thought of himself as missing out on a lot of the world. He felt that he that for his twenty-five years of life he was still just a child in a lot of ways. He knew how to run a farm and heal the sick but what politics went on outside of small town were beyond him. There was often conversation of the civil war that went on in Corone. People talked of how the army just couldn’t protect the people anymore.

If the army couldn’t protect the people then someone would have to. Ganlon thought why not him. He imagined himself fighting and killing goblins. There blood covering his body as he raised his sword over the dead pile in front of him. Woman screamed his name and men asked to see the sword that killed the leader of a band of evil creatures. His smile lit his face.

“Milo, how hardy are Goblins? Shouldn’t you and I be able to kill a group of little men?” Ganlon drew his sword to look at the edge of its blade.

“Ganlon, have you never seen a Goblin?” Milo asked. His eyes never strayed from where he walked on the road.

“No. I mean Father said they were little green men that had been driven from Corone long ago and I need not worry about things that weren’t around. I think that Father thought he would live forever. He was always going to protect me. He was superhuman, my father, Humph.” Ganlon blew the last sound through his lips sarcastically.

“From what I remember your Father was a good man. Goblins are not just little green men. They are a blood thirsty lot that will fight to protect their tribe and get what they want and they are still in Corone.” Milo looked hard at Ganlon. Ganlon back down from that gaze and they continued their normal comfortable walk without conversation.

Two hundred feet down the road Ganlon recognized something he had seen in a long time. Arctic willow bushes grew along the side of the road. Ganlon had not eaten Arctic willow since he was a boy and immediately headed to the tree. He dropped to his knee by one of the bushes and dug out a young root. He bit into it and enjoyed the bitter sour taste of the root he knew to be good to keep away colds and winter sickness.

Ganlon began to pull off leaves of the bush and putting them into his pouch. The bush only grew in the flatlands around the mountains and he had not had any of the bushes leaves or roots in his pouch since before his father had passed away. Ganlon’s search for young tender shoots found him looking at a scene on the side of the road way.

“Milo, you better look at this.” Ganlon stopped and pointed at the bottom of a hill.

Two horse bodies lay strewn in front two wagons with broken wheels. Ganlon took a quick survey of the field beneath the hill and saw no bodies.
“There was a battle here.” Milo said walking forward. “These wagons are empty and people were killed here.”

“We must be near where we are headed then. Well that’s good; I thought we might be lost.” Ganlon forced a smile. Milo looked around a bit and then walked on past the battle scene. Ganlon grabbed some more Arctic willow and moved to catch up.

They walked for another twenty minutes until they came upon the signs of humanity. The fields became tended and Ganlon saw corn, wheat, and soy bean. The hardy crops of the low lands of mountainous country became tended and low stone walls showed where farmers marked their lands.

“What was the name of that farmer again?” Ganlon said between chewing on the willow root.

“Gunner’s farm.” Milo said. His annoyance with Ganlon’s chewing shone on his face.

“Milo, there is a farm over there to the Northeast. There are two horses in the field there.” Ganlon pointed with the end of the willow root. Milo walked toward the horses with Ganlon not far behind.

Milo reached out to the two horses. The roan was the first to align with his thoughts. Milo reached out his hand and touched the horse on its nose.

-I am looking for two legs with many metal things- Milo sent to the horse.

-There are many two legs here like you. There is one here with my two leg who has many metal sticks- The horse sent back.

-Many thanks- Milo patted the horse’s nose and the roan let loose a snort and a short neigh.

“We are here, Ganlon.” Milo started towards the house. Ganlon shrugged his shoulders and followed close behind.

[Northman]

[OOC: Minor bunnying approved]

--------------


Jaak hoped the words he sent with the riders would inspire soldiers and rangers alike to come to his aid, or possibly other people of similar skills to him. He knew there were a lot of skilled individuals in this world, and hoped help would come before it was too late. Judging by the ravaging these goblins had done so far, he doubted he could defeat them himself. Hold them off maybe, depending on their numbers, but that was as far as his abilities would go.

Thus, he bided his time. The farmers were ill equipped against attacks like these. They had hayforks and spears, as well as a few bows for hunting. A few of the farmers, including Gunner’s son Orlyn, were fair shots, but Jaak knew one thing was to fell a deer – it was something different entirely to fell an oncoming attacker.

The Hunter did the best he could to explain this to these poor farmers, but it seemed his arrival had boosted their confidence. Leaving the matter alone, Jaak instead went out scouting, looking for tracks and evidence of the goblins’ whereabouts. Every now and then, someone from other settlements nearby would arrive with goods or word, but no one had seen a goblin for days. Some people started to relax, while others got nervous. Jaak got nervous. He didn’t like this one bit. If the farmers had been ravaged for so long, why hadn’t anyone been attacked for several days?

At the very least, Jaak had suspected to find more tracks than he did, but all the tracks he found were old and around earlier attack sites. It was barely enough for him to discern the number of goblins, but going by the estimates of barely a dozen, he figured there might actually be as few as half a dozen. That was reassuring, and would explain why it eventually would be a stop in the attacks – even goblins needed rest, and a small band could only go for so long without it.

It was therefore with a lighter heart than normal that Jaak returned to Gunner’s farm this early afternoon. After returning Gunner’s horse, which he kindly had lent away, to the field outside, he went inside and settled down by the fireplace as usual. Jaak brandished all weapons on the end of the large dining table that was closest to the fireplace, and examined them, sharpening some if necessary. Gunner’s wife served him some of her spicy stew. Its delicious smell filled the room.

Then came the knock at the door.

“My name is Marcus Book. I hear you have goblins, and have need of men to make them dead.”

Orlyn sprinted over to the door and opened it eagerly. Jaak grabbed one of his axes, just in case.

In the doorway stood a broadshouldered warrior, at least his build and weaponry revealed him as such, his glimmering eyes taking in the room. Jaak took slightly note of this.

”Are you here to help?” The boy, he could be no older than 15 or 16, if that, but still taller than Marcus, although barely half as wide. ”The hunter is over there,” he pointed, as if the huge Monster Hunter still in his armor inside was hard to spot.

Jaak stood up and put the axe down once Marcus entered. Orlyn closed the door behind him. The large man offered the newcomer his hand. ”Well met, Marcus Book. I am Jaak Byron,” the Monster Hunter said with a booming voice, greeting Marcus with a warrior’s greeting, grabbing Marcus’ upper forearm with his fist. ”Have a seat, Arlene has made stew. I will explain afterwards.”

Jaak was hungry after today’s scouting, and didn’t feel like talking before he had eaten. Gunner would ask Marcus about the travel, what he did for a living, and Orlyn would shoot in the occasional excited question, while Jaak sat silently and listened while eating his large portion.

But before they were half-way through the meal, there was another knock at the door. Orlyn opened once again, only to reveal a lightly armored elf and a heavier armored human.

”Greetings, my name is Milo Elkheart, and my companion here is Ganlon Martel. We here there are goblins about?” Orlyn let them in, and Jaak walked over and greeted them the same way he had Marcus. The duo each got a portion of stew. Milo got extra attention from Orlyn while the chatter about everyone around the table proceeded. Jaak offered a few simple questions about prior experiences and combat skills in between his eating, but little else.

When everyone, and especially Jaak, were finished, Jaak gathered the new arrivals at the other end of the table. He made room in the middle of his many weapons and rolled out a crude map Gunner had given him. He fastened each edge of the map with an axe and a knife, respectively. The large man went straight to the case.

”These areas have been hit hard several times,” he started and pointed at several places on the map he had circled with a coal stick, only to be interrupted by Orlyn.

”But what about Dannel’s Creek?” he asked, pointing to a place Jaak hadn’t circled. Jaak shrugged, and pushed Orlyn away from the table.

”Look, kid, I’m not finished. Here,” he picked up his heavy gloves and helmet from the table and handed them to Orlyn to keep him occupied. The kid quickly donned them and went on to wave a fire rake around.

”These areas,” Jaak continued as if he had never been interrupted, and leaned over the table, supporting himself with one hand as he crossed out a handful of places. Dannel’s Creek was one of them. ”Have been utterly destroyed. Either no survivors, or the people have fled.”

”A few places and caravans along the road, I’m sure you’ve seen them, have been hit,” he placed a few squares at various places on the map, ”and I’ve seen additional tracks at these places,” he finally made about a dozen triangles around the map, mostly at forest edges and river banks.

”Unless you’ve arrived here totally blind, you have witnessed the destruction this little band of goblins have presented. It is not pretty, and it’s not normal. Goblins are vicious little critters, but these seems extremely driven,” Jaak talked as if he knew a lot about goblins. He didn’t know all there was, but he was quite certain that this bloodthirsty behavior was strange.

”I’ve felled goblin scouts in the past, but not warriors like this,” he admitted, ”but even so, this band doesn’t seem to be more than six, maybe seven, goblins strong at most,” he explained his findings earlier today. ”However, they’re small and difficult to track from the attack sites when so much time has passed.”

”You all seem like able persons,” he eyed all of his companions, then retrieved his other knife from the collection of weapons he had at the table. There were, in addition to the knife and axe holding the map, another knife – now in Jaak’s hand – and axe there, a massive mace, and a broadsword. A crossbow was leaned towards a chair by the fireplace. It was clear, beyond any doubt, that this man knew how to be prepared for a fight.

”So tomorrow we should set out and scout these two areas. The tracks there looks fresher than elsewhere,” the areas he pointed at with his knife looked like they were a couple, maybe three, hours north of the farm. ”But I’m open for input. Have any of you even fought goblins before?”

[Amen]

Gek sat chewing at a haunch of raw, unidentifiable meat. He was the biggest of the war-band and so, in a way, he was the boss. But right now he was hungry and didn’t feel much like fighting – a rare thing indeed – so he filled his rounded middle and settled in with his back to a log.

Wooban was sniffling nearby, twitching his narrow ears and constantly glancing at his larger fellow. Gek ignored him for now, taking another massive bite and chewing deliberately. Blood rolled over his chin. Wooban knew Gek was a particularly intractable goblin. He figured that was why the Bloodseeker chieftain had sent him away with this little group to stir up trouble amongst the humans. So he waited until the boss was good and ready, digging through a blood-stained knapsack for a third time.

“Well,” Gek finally said, after spitting a bit of gristle into their small fire. “I guess you’re dyin’ do dell us whad he said.”

Wooban lowered the pack and eyed the boss carefully. “You’ll wanna hear it.”

Gek snorted. “Ged over here, boys!” he hollered at the surrounding trees. “Brainy’s god somedin’ do dell us.”

“I’m here, boss,” Ham said, his head popping up from behind a fallen, moss-covered tree trunk. On the other side, he had collected a great bushel of scrawny tree limbs and he was in the process of carving them into rudimentary arrow shapes with a sharp rock.

“Where’s Gorsnot?” Gek said.

“Ya callin’ me?” a fourth goblin said, emerging from some undergrowth on the far side of the camp. Gorsnot was small even for a goblin, and his features were sharp and wicked. He spoke around a gore-stained finger bone, which was held between his teeth as a human might enjoy a toothpick or a length of straw or perhaps as the city-dwellers enjoyed their cigars.

“Siddown,” Gek grunted. “Where’s de spooky one?”

“I been here, boss,” Rikkit said. The rest of the band lifted their chins to see their fifth, who was perched on a high branch overhead.

“Aw-right,” Gek said, “dat is everybody. Whad de crybaby say, when he wasn’ whinin’ aboud geddin’ killed?”

Gek punctuated his question by kicking a bloody mass of flesh and bone and torn clothing – the same mass from which he had taken his hunch of meat and from which Gorsnot’s chew toy came.

“Choomuns talk a lot,” Gorsnot muttered as he began carving a choice bit off the cold corpse. “Dunno why Wooban lissens, or even understands ‘em.”

He was hushed when an acorn bounced painfully off the scythe of his nose, and he growled up at Rikkit. “’Cause they know things,” Rikkit growled down at his smaller fellow. “Now shut it and let the weirdy talk.”

Wooban did, at last, speak up: “He’s a scouty-one, I think. Some big human bugger sent him to find other big human buggers to stop us from takin’ all their stuff and eatin’ the little human buggers, and the chesty ones I guess.”

That got Gek’s attention. He sat up straight and rumbled, and threw the bloody hunk of bone he’d been chewing on at Ham, who yelped and ducked behind his tree just in time. “Dey dink dey can ged me? I’m da bigges’ goblin around! I ain’ scared of any of ‘em, I don’ care how big or how many! I kills ‘em, id’s whad I do.”

“Yeah!” Gorsnot said, but he quickly hushed and lowered his ears when Gek glared at him.

“Where dey all goin’?” Gek said, turning to Wooban again.

“I been tryin’ to figure out what he meant,” Wooban said thoughtfully. “He was starting to tell me when you was carvin’ his ears off, you see, so there was a lot of screamin’ and cryin’. I think what he was telling me they were all going to meet up first, then come and get us.”

“Where?”

“Eh? Oh!” Wooban snapped back to attention and rubbed his chin. He had thought Gek was done talking to him. “You know that big ol’ farmy place way out that way? The one you wanted to go sneak into next week to grab some animals and maybe the little one and the chesty one when the big ones were out workin'?”

“Yeah?”

“That one.”

“Well I god a plan,” Gek growled.

The band stared at their leader for a long moment, who seemed very much locked in thought. “Um,” Wooban said, and Gek snapped to attention again.

“We’re gonna ged dem first!” he roared, which startled Gorsnot so that he tripped over the corpse and fell in the fire. Only after he put himself out and the band stopped laughing at him did their thoughts return to the task at hand.

“But they’s in a house, boss,” Rikkit mused. “How’re we gonna get ‘em out?”

That stumped them for a long time. Then a slow, wicked smile crawled its way over Wooban’s face. “Gorsnot just gave me an idea, he did, and it’s a good one.”


***

Marcus grinned as Orlyn, bedecked in Jaak’s heavy helmet and gloves, strutted about the house wielding his deadly fire rake. He turned his eyes back to the map as the monster hunter continued to lay out the situation, leaning himself back comfortably in his seat. At the moment the goblins seemed a distant problem – certainly not a threat. Listening to Byron talk, full and satisfied from Arlene’s fine cooking, Marcus almost felt like the monster hunter could be talking about the construction of a fence or the shoring of a wall.

“I’ve personally not fought goblins,” Book said in response to Jaak’s question, “but your plan seems a good one as far as I can tell. I can’t see how they’re any different from men or beasts: raiders have to be found before they can be killed.”

“Do you smell that?” Arlene said, emerging from a side room.

The group paused and took breaths before somebody said. “Smoke?”

“Is the stew boiling over?” Gunner said, only mildly concerned.

“No,” his wife said, “I took it off the fire some time ago.”

“Calm down,” Marcus said, rising from his seat to look about the hearth, “perhaps the boy knocked a coal loose when he went for the rake.”

But no, the gathered group realized with growing concern that there was no evidence of uncontained fire around the hearth or excess smoke coming from within. Yet still, smoke gathered overhead and began to grow thick enough to choke, burning the eyes. Too late, the paladin realized that ash was beginning to fall lazily from the ceiling.

“The roof is on fire!” he said.

“Hell!” Gunner cried.

“I’ll get water!” Orlyn shouted, running to the door.

Marcus shouted for the boy to stop, but Orlyn only did so after opening the door. The boy turned, confused, and then was promptly struck in the thigh with a crude arrow from outside. Silent with shock, Orlyn merely stared at the arrow as his terrified father snatched him up and pulled him away from the open door. Arlene shrieked.

“Stay away from the door!” someone shouted amidst the smoke and the chaos, and sure enough three more arrows flew through the doorway and embedded themselves harmlessly in the furniture.

Outside, the group could hear the panicked cries of horses and chickens and pigs, and the angry bleating of goats. “The animals are loose!” Gunner moaned. “I’ll be ruined!”

Marcus overturned the table, then turned to Jaak Byron, who was by far the largest of them. “We have to get outside!” he shouted through the smoke and drew his sword. “Use the table as a shield and go out first; we’ll be right behind you.”

[blackdog1]

OOC - ( Minor bunnying was approved by Northman and Amen )


To most people, it had the cozy look of a well kept and prosperous farm. Smoke drifted out of the chimney, and a warm amber light shone out of the windows as the people of the house sheltered themselves for the night. But Gek was not a person and that is not what he saw. He saw a site ripe for pain, blood and death. It was hard for him to contain his excitement and stick to the plan.

Gek and his war band stood a good distance off from the farm. He wanted to be sure that he had the right house in order the trap and kill the ones that had come to kill him.

Rikkit suddenly appeared out of the shadows, back from his short scouting mission." This is it," was all he said before once again disappearing into the growing darkness.

Gek gave a quick nod," You know what da do," was all he needed to say to set his little band into action.

Wooban and Gorsnot drifted off to the left, toward the barn and stables, while Gek and Ham moved directly toward the front of the house.

Rikkit was off working on his own as usual. With speed and stealth that would dumbfound most humans, he made his way to the back of the farm house. Once there he leaped onto the chimney and quietly scrambled up the rocks to perch on the roof. His job was the hardest, most dangerous and most important to the completion of their simple plan.

Once he was in place on the roof at the rear of the house, Rikkit removed the small wooden box that Wooban had given him from inside his leather tunic. It was a finely made box with a well fitted lid, but the craftsmanship was lost on the goblin. His quick and agile fingers tossed the lid aside and shook out half of the sand in the blink of an eye.

With a few long slow breaths concentrated on the warm ember, it soon began to glow with new heat. Removing the twisted strands of dried grass from his braid, Rikkit started a small fire in the box which he soon transfered to the small torches that he carried. Within minutes, multiple small fires began to slowly grow together from the back end of the roof.

Rikkit mouth twisted into a satisfied evil grin. The weirdo had some strange ideas, but they worked pretty well.

Turning his back to the flames, he crept to the front of the house to take up a place over the door. All he had to do now is wait patiently for someone to pounce on.

Meanwhile, across the farm yard, Wooban and Gorsnot had the simple and enjoyable task of setting all of the animals free. The fun part was giving them little bites to make them cry and squeal louder, Gorsnot especially liked that part.

Gek took up his position about thirty paces in front of the door and waited. He gnashed his teeth in anticipation of the carnage and destruction to come, being the boss was hard, everyone else was having fun while he waited here.

Ham was bored already, he hated waiting. He was ready with his pile of crude arrows, ready to shoot them all whenever Gek told him to.

Ham did not have to wait too long. As the fire took on a life of its own there was a commotion in the house and the door finally opened. Ham got his wish and began to rain his arrow at the bright spot of the door.

************************************************** *******

The inside of the house was a mixed scene of general chaos that contained the organized pools of calm and controlled activity of men preparing for battle. They all knew that to run out the door unprepared and unorganized was to invite disaster.

In a tense situation most people felt the need to shout what they thought was important information to those around them. Milo was no different, he just was not used to being loud.

"Ignore the arrows," he tried not to shout incoherently, "they are only a distraction."

To Milos trained eyes, this was true. He just hoped that the others would see what he did. The arrows that were focused on the door way were nothing more than sharpened sticks. They were thin and crooked, not capable of being shot accurately and would probably not hurt the armored men at all. Only about half of the arrows hitting the house were actually coming through the door, and those were mostly bouncing off of the hard wood surfaces.

All of this meant nothing to the boy and his family. They were looking at an arrow sticking out of his leg, but it was not a severe wound and most likely just dumb luck that he had been hit at all.

Milos personal pool of calm activity was readying his bow for his part in their exit and being sure that he had all of his gear. There would be no coming back for forgotten items this time.

His next step was to heed his own advice and ignore the ricocheting and splintering arrows as he moved to the side of the door. He needed to be in position to fire effectively on the archers outside the building as the others exited. He tried not to think about the fact that he would most likely be the last person out of the rapidly burning house.

Jaak quickly, but calmly, grabbed his equipment and the maps before readying himself to single handedly carry the table through the door for everyone else's defense.

Marcus was ready and waiting with sword in hand.

Somewhere in the thickening smoke Ganlon and the family were making ready to follow the others out into the night.

Jaak took hold of the table and with a general nod of readiness spoke a reminder, "Watch the flanks!"

The open door helped to fuel the flames that hovered over their heads, making a speedy exit more important by the moment.

As Jaak and Marcus waded through the door way and into the hail of arrows, Milo positioned himself to be as useful as possible. For Milo that meant getting as many of his arrows into his enemies as quickly as he could.

Milo leaned his body on the door frame as the others passed into the cooler night air. Drawing his bow and holding as still as a statue, he tried to ignore the growing flames as he waited for the opportunity to get sight of the moments most important target, the other archer that was harassing them.

Unlike his opposing counterpart, he would wait for a good target before firing. He knew there was at least one out there, with a little luck, there would be less before there were more.

[Ganlon Martel]

Ganlon often wondered what it would be like to be inside of the smoke-house that his father had kept.

“I always wondered what a roast felt like.” Ganlon said aloud as he looked around the inside of the house. He wondered what the meat felt like as the smoke caused the water to leave it. He found out now and he didn’t like it.

The smoke pushed its way into his nose and burned his eyes. The smoke was not the white of his father’s smoke-house; it was the black that comes when all kinds of different things burned. The fire followed the smoke down in watery tendrils and it breathed as it found its way from the roof to the air inside the house. Ganlon looked at the fire and he was sure that it looked back at him as it moved.

The room was filled with people scrambling about with noise and confusion. The farm boy Orlyn cried from the arrow that had pierced his leg. Ganlon was drawn from the glaring eyes of the fire towards the pain that was in that cry.

Ganlon watched as the three warriors gathered together. Their movements caused them to flow together into their martial nature. Ganlon saw that they seemed to mesh together.

“Ignore the arrows," Milo shouted, "they are only a distraction." Ganlon thought a very good distraction as he looked again at the piece of wood sticking out of the boy’s leg.

Weapons were drawn and a table was flipped over. That last part was impressive to Ganlon.

He started to horde the family together. Arlene whimpered and Gunner’s face took on a steel grimace of determination. Orlyn moaned and held the arrow that was in his leg. Ganlon moved them together and towards the door placing his arm under the boy’s shoulder as he lifted him to walk out the doorway.

A small single ember blew down from the fire over head as he heard the shout of Jaak, “Watch the flanks.” The ember dropped onto Ganlon’s pant leg and lit a stray string on fire. His leg caught fire in an instant and he cried out,

“Zall, why does this stuff always happen to me?” He dropped the boy and turned he pulled off his helmet and used it to dip stew from the pot and pour it onto the fire on his leg. The boy laughed and then coughed from the smoke. The fire went out and he quickly retrieved the boy but not the helmet.

Suddenly the warriors were gone out the door and Ganlon took his opportunity to get the family out. He pushed Arlene and Gunner out first. The farmer took his cues nicely and moved with his wife out the open door. The farmer moved quickly to find himself behind the table that Jaak had placed as cover just outside.

Ganlon lifted the boy up. He just barely heard the “thank you” as he stepped out the door way. He pushed the boy towards his father and started to draw his sword. He looked at Milo as he pasted through the door frame and smiled. Suddenly his vision blurred and he felt pain on the top of his skull. Just before he passed out he felt the wetness of blood on his skin and saw the Goblin that had dropped from the roof to split his skull.

Rikkit had watched as the group exited the house. The two warriors that came first were big. To big for him to land on they might hurt him before he could kill them. Gek would want to claim at least one of them to kill. The next were unarmed and looked to be fun to kill but could wait. Then came the fat one through the door and Rikkit could resist.

Rikkit loomed over Ganlon with his teeth showing. His large shoulders hunched and his ears curved flat as he snarled at Ganlon. He flipped his black braid over his shoulder and laughed as he looked at the elf in the door way. He looked at the human lying on the ground and ran up the wall. He jumped back onto the roof.

Rikkit yelled to the others, “I getted the firsts one. Yours guys turn.”

Gek watched as the peoples came through the door. Ham’s arrow were keeping the people behind a table. He watched as Rikkit jumped from the roof and dropped on the fat one in armor. Being a boss was definitely taking its’ toll on Gek. He raised his shield and sword and yelled, “I gets to kill the next one.”

Gek screamed his loudest war cry and charged towards the table. If he broke it then he could break the humans behind it and Ham might stick one of them with his arrows.

Woodsban and Gorsnot had done their job well. They had loosed the animals. The two horses had kicked and screamed at the two Goblins until the Goblins had let them go by. The cows proved more fun to poke and they had poked them repeatedly until they finally ran away too. After the poking Woodsban knew that the fight would be started and he wanted nothing more than to watch some humans die. He slowly moved to where he could see as Gek started his charge. He saw the Elf in the doorway and yelled to Ham,

“Heddya Ham shoots the pointed eared one first.”

Gorsnot had found himself a pig. He stuck it twice. He then decided that the dagger just wasn’t doing it fast enough. He bit down on the pigs neck and decided he liked it. He fell to the ground and started eating the pig right then and there. Let Gek and the others finish the fight he was hungry.

[Revenant]

Since more than seven days have passed since the last post in this thread, this boss battle has ended unsuccessfully.